


Like Real People Do

by jellyfishline



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkwardness, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Sarcasm, fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, if cup noodle exists in this world than I say doritos do too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishline/pseuds/jellyfishline
Summary: Noctis isn't at all surprised when Prompto turns out to be a little less than straight. He's a little surprised that it matters so much, though.





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the beautiful howlsawiz for giving this mess a title *blows her a kiss*

When Prompto trips awkwardly out of the closet in their last semester of high school, Noctis learns some important lessons about life. Firstly, that the correct response to “So, I’m pretty sure I’m into dudes?” is not: “Cool. Are you done with the doritos?”

And when your best friend—who you’d take a bullet for in a heartbeat, who’s only been around for like four years but still knows you as well or better than people you met as an infant, who is one of maybe two people you’d actually describe as a _friend_ with no qualifiers or awkward silences—when he turns on you with big puppy eyes and a trembly-awkward face and says “No _really,_ I’m seriously—I’m really gay!” you should not, under _any_ circumstances, look him up and down and say, “Uh, obviously?”

To be fair, Noct _had_ been hungry at the time. No one is a good diplomat with a case of the munchies.

And it wasn’t like he’d known it was supposed to be a secret. Prompto isn’t shy about anything he feels. He advertises his emotions on a big freckly billboard of smiles and scowls and soft little frowns, and he’s always up and down and bouncing between whatever thought is in his head. Noct had listened, patiently, while Prompto described every attribute of “the radiant goddess” of his fourth period math class, and he’d listened (with slightly less patience) while Prompto whispered, awed, “Seriously, does Gladiolus _ever_ stop working out? I think he could bench press my entire body.”

It’s just one of those things Noct has to endure. Ignis nags; Gladio slaps him on the back hard enough to chuck him into the next province; Prompto is in love with _everyone_ , girls and guys included. Noct would be way more surprised to hear that Prompto _actually_ got himself a date than that his pool of prospective crushes contains everyone under the fucking sun.

But Prompto didn’t see it that way. He stormed out, red up to his hairline, and it took the whole weekend and two exasperated conversations with Ignis before Noct figured out what his problem was.

“It likely took a lot of courage to tell you,” Ignis says, spearing Noctis with a stare even while he chopped cabbage into perfect symmetrical strips. “To respond flippantly to such personal information—well, he may have assumed you were mocking him.”

Noct slumps onto the counter. “I just don’t get it. Why would he think I’d give a shit?”

Ignis gives him A Look.

“I mean,” Noct says, “I _know,_ I just…”

He doesn’t understand why it matters. Prompto never cared that Noctis was a prince—that he had duties and migraines and creepy powers and _lineage_ and bodyguards who sometimes followed him into class and escorted him away to meetings and whatever. Compared to all of that, it’s hard to think of anything Prompto could be, say, or do that would weird him out. Noct’s sense of normal is already screwed to hell anyway.

“I doubt that he assumed you’d react negatively, necessarily,” Ignis says, in what, for him, probably passes for sympathy. “But speaking of sensitive matters puts even the best of us in a vulnerable state.”

Noctis puts his face down on the table. “ _Fuuuck.”_

There’s a small _fwap_ as Ignis bops him with a cabbage leaf. “The future King of Lucis does not use vulgarities,” he says, sternly.

Noct bats away the offending vegetation. “The future King of Lucis can suck my dick.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know that didn’t make any sense.” Noct tugs on the ends of his hair. “Do you think I have to like… _apologize_?” The word feels foul just _saying_ it.

“That is usually where one starts when one has offended a friend, yes.”

Noct groans.

“Come now, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that.” Ignis claps his hands together. “Now pass me those sprouts, would you?”

Ignis is a guy who eats _sprouts_. Ignis is not to be trusted.

But Ignis is also literally the only person in the world Noctis can talk to about things like this—his other options being Gladio (not likely) his dad (yeah, right) and Prompto (obviously not a good idea.) Ignis also has this annoying habit of being _right_ , about everything, which is almost as awful as it is really goddamn useful. Perks of being trained from birth to be the steward of a king, Noct supposes, although he’d still bet money that Ignis was born at least partially psychic.

It’s just… Noctis hates apologies. It’s not even that he hates being _wrong_ , really, but having to go up to someone and _talk_ to them and _explain_ stuff and he’s getting a headache just thinking about it. Apologies always remind him of those frickin’ diplomacy classes and Ignis kicking his shin under the desk because “How can you expect to rule without knowing the correct way to address So-and-So Duke of All-The-Fucks-I-Don’t-Give” and really Noct would rather fail his midterms and get scolded by both Ignis _and_ his dad than tell Prompto that being an ass was just a side-effect of never having any friends his whole childhood.

But he doesn’t see any way around it. So, he sucks it up and corners Prompto the second class lets out on Monday.

They haven’t talked all weekend, not even texted _._ This is probably the longest they’ve gone without talking since Prompto re-introduced himself on the first day of freshman year. Noct is a little afraid he’s going to disappear and pretend to be a total stranger again—from the petrified look on Prompto’s face he’s definitely considering it.

Noctis plants himself right next to Prompto’s desk, leaving no room for escape (yeah, Gladio, he _does_ pay attention during those stupid strategy briefings.) He opens his mouth to say something neutral, casual—a ‘hey, Prompto,’ or a ‘how’s it going, pal?’—nice and normal and totally not suggesting that he’s spent the past two days agonizing over this very moment.

“I’m sorry!” he blurts instead, because subtly is overrated anyway.

Prompto’s clutching his bookbag to his chest like a bulletproof vest. “Wh-what?”

“I’m _sorry_.” Noctis tries to ignore the itching feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. Why do people always have to stare at him? It’s not like his classmates don’t see enough of him every day anyway. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, okay? It was an accident.”

Prompto blinks about forty times in one second. “Accident?” he repeats, like he’s never heard the word before.

“Yeah.” Noct swallows. He didn’t really think he’d get this far. “I—I just wasn’t thinking and I wasn’t trying to piss you off and, I dunno, it just didn’t seem like a big deal? So—”

“It’s not a big deal!” Prompto throws up his hands—probably to punctuate the point, but all it accomplishes is to smack his bag into Noct’s chest. Noct can’t even _blink_ before Prompto’s snatching it back and tossing the strap over his shoulder.

“It’s not a big deal, not even a little deal! It’s not a deal!” The side-pocket zipper is somehow stuck in Prompto’s hair. Noct moves to help untangle it but Prompto waves him off so frantically it’s like he’s trying to take flight. “I don’t— _ow,_ shit—look, I don’t even—I don’t know why I even brought it up! Just forget about it, okay?”

His voice is getting all high and desperate.

“Prompto—” Noctis starts.

“No, seriously, it’s fine!”

“Yeah, I _know_. I don’t care.”

“Of course! Exactly! That’s why I’m saying we should just—”

Noct grabs onto Prompto’s shoulders.

It’s not something he planned to do. It’s definitely not something Ignis told him to do during his brief but mortifying instruction on ‘how to apologize during an interpersonal dispute that has exactly zero political ramifications,’ and it wasn’t a factor he accounted for when practicing mood-lightening jokes in his dressing room mirror. But then again he also didn’t plan for Prompto to start spazzing out like a chocobo on speed, so pretty much his whole outline is shot to hell at this point.

“Prompto,” he says, fighting the urge to flip off the two girls who are raptly watching their very, _very_ private conversation from the doorway. “Can you just listen for a sec? I _don’t care_. At all. _Really_.”

Prompto opens his mouth, but comprehension swallows up whatever protest he planned to make. It dawns in his eyes like a foggy sunrise.

“…oh,” Prompto says, weakly.

Noctis takes his arms back. Jerks on his jacket to straighten it, but mostly to look unaffected and unruffled. “Yeah,” he mutters, ducking his flushed cheeks into his collar. “It’s not like it _matters_ or anything. So you like dudes, why would I give a shit about that? I’m not an asshole.”

Prompto makes a soft choked noise, like duck being stepped on.

“So. Uh.” Noct rubs the back of his neck. The watching girls have started to _titter._ “Don’t think you have to hide this stuff from me, okay. Because I’m your friend, and… yeah. Um.”

Ignis insisted that Noctis needed to ‘reaffirm the strength of their relationship’ when he apologized. Noct still thinks it’s overkill, especially now that Prompto’s staring at him with big, wobbly… watery…

_Oh Six please don’t start crying._

“Okay.” Prompto very casually scrubs a hand across his eyes. “Sure. I… I gotcha.”

Noct gently bumps his shoulder. “So, you wanna get out of here?” he asks, hoping the cheer in his voice doesn’t sound too forced. “Ignis is making dinner tonight, if you wanna drop by.”

Prompto nods. When he finally looks up that little crooked grin is probably— _definitely_ —the best thing Noctis has ever seen. “That’d be _awesome_ ,” he says, and swings an arm around Noct’s neck like he always does, reeling him in like the catch of the day. Noct is stiff for just a second before he relaxes into the familiar warmth and weight of his arm, the faint citrusy smell of Prompto’s bodywash and the soy sauce stains on his uniform sleeves. It’s so familiar, honestly, that relief blooms in his chest and tingles all the way out to his fingertips.

They leave like that, shoulder-to-shoulder and close as they ever were, and when they elbow their way past the small crowd of eavesdroppers, Prompto smiles at them all so brilliantly they scatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I get a comment I literally dance around my bedroom with glee, just putting that out there
> 
> My [tumblr](http://jellyfishline.tumblr.com/), in case you want to scream at me to finish all my WIPs before starting another one


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